


I Stay Up As Long As It Takes

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Fireworks, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miss Pauling has never actually been to a fireworks display (Work, ugh, right?), so Scout “jailbreaks” her and takes her to watch some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Stay Up As Long As It Takes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [microwaveslayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwaveslayer/gifts).



> cottoncandy_bingo: fireworks. [From this post.](microwaveslayer.tumblr.com/post/123255940478/please-consider-the-following-miss-pauling-has) To be fair, I didn't see the post until the 4th was almost over. Betaed by Carrie.
> 
> The title is from Just Watch the Fireworks by Jimmy Eat World.

"So, that's all of it. I bet that contract was done in record time, huh? I just flew by, like _zoom_ and _zoom_ and _bam_!Everyone's dead. It was a real show, I hope you got an eyeful. And that ain't even all--"

He spun around, his hat turned at a sideways angle. Scout wasn't beyond taking his story to the next level of theatrics. In illustrating his story, he'd gone into all kinds of dramatics, even resorting to shadow puppets at one point. She quickly reached to steady the pen holder he'd almost knocked over as he went on about the story she'd lost track of.

He'd gone and taped up his red sleeves for an inconceivable reason, especially as most of the mercenaries were in coats and sweaters this far north. Even she was wearing a knit purple piece with little baseballs across the front that Scout's mother had sent. Each time he saw her in this sweater, he broke off into this big grin, like he knew a secret and wanted to tell the world.

Not surprising; Scout told Mann co's secrets to any passerby who would listen, and plenty who wouldn't.

"So, how about it, Miss Pauling, am I great or what?"

One of his taped sleeves fell down. He reached up, and attempted to fix it and likely show off his arms at the same point. She noticed that he had written _check this out!_ in sharpie pointing up to his biceps, because apparently his continual flexing wasn't enough, he had to add subtitles as well.

"Well, you certainly were efficient," she said. She rolled her chair back and reached towards one of the camouflage cases sitting near the back wall. She preferred her office neater, but for guns like this, she could make an exception.

He sat on her desk, in a way which he had to crane his neck to see her. She didn't pretend to understand the mercenaries, let alone him.

"Yes, that is..." She let her sentence hang, and lifted up the case for him to see. "Anyways, here's your payment for a job well done. I'll be contacting you soon for more work," she said.

Scout hoisted up the case, and balanced it under one arm. "Aw, thanks Miss Pauling!"

"Don't knock my things over," she said.

"Oh, I'm way too fast for that. Faster than the speed of sound, that's why no one can hear me until I'm right up in their face," Scout said.

 _Maybe I should get my pen case bolted to my desk_ she thought.

"Speaking of speed of sound, I'm always waitin' on your call. _Always_. Seriously, you could call me anytime. In the middle of the night, right now, when I'm in the shower, I am one-frickin'-hundred percent your man when you need bodies, or you know, anythin' else."

She was about to respond, but he kept talking. He was handy about moving straight on from potentially dangerous questions she would have to weigh the possible consequences of responding to or even what they did to her, and back to his favorite topic: himself.

Before she could answer to any of his anecdotes, he changed the subject again.

"Anyways, you know what day it is, right?"

For one panicked second, she looked to the calendar. Had she forgotten a performance review? She always penned her calendars in a shorthand unreadable to anyone but herself. She checked over the scribbles, and with relief, she realized that wasn't until the fifteenth.

"It's Saturday," she said.

Tomorrow would be a new shipment of guns to oversee, three matches to monitor, to say nothing of all the little things the Administrator liked to slip into her schedule without warning.

"Well, yeah, but I mean the _date_. You know, fourth of July, America's birthday and all. Soldier is talkin' about aimin' a bunch of fireworks at the hippie commune. Apparently that's patriotic in whatever universe he comes from," Scout said.

"Oh," Miss Pauling said. She rolled her chair back and straightened the papers on her desk, before he knocked them over and left her with hours of work. "Well, that's something, I guess."

She'd probably have to oversee the rebuilding of parts of the base, and that was if she was lucky. At least in a wintry wasteland like Viaduct, Soldier wouldn't be blowing up any of the nearby towns. 

"So, you goin' to the party later? Demo's makin' the punch. I bet it's goin' to be nothin' but rum," Scout said.

She tabbed her pen to her lips, though it required no deep thought. The answer was, and would always be the same.

"I'll be working late," she said.

"Not even goin' to see the fireworks? I mean they'll probably be right outside your window, you don't even gotta go anywhere," Scout said.

"I've never seen them, but they'll probably burn down half the buildings in the base, knowing Soldier and Demo," she said.

"Wait a minute here. You never never seen them? Not even _once_? Like, you mean the fireworks, right? You've definitely seen Soldier and Demo blow crap up tons of times."

She shrugged. "My family wasn't very patriotic, and we were all prone to working through the holidays," she said.

"Really? Not a single holiday at all?"

She shook her head.

"One, don't tell Soldier that, two, _the fuck?_ How do you miss out on the loudest holiday of all?"

"As far as he knows, I sleep draped in the American flag and whisper sweet nothings to Lady Liberty at night," Miss Pauling said.

"So, you really sat right through and studied through all those booms? You'd have to have nerves of somethin' even stronger than steel for that. I know, we'll call it nerves of _Miss Pauling!_ " He laughed to himself, and scooted off her desk.

"Okay, okay, I got this. I am fixing this, even if I have to punch Spy, and shove an entire apple pie up someone's ass!" He cracked his knuckles, a move she'd seen countless times as he waited for the doors to open on another day full of bloodshed.

"I'm pretty sure neither of those things will help, but it'd be interesting to watch," she said.

He leaned in to the desk, his face only inches from hers. For once, she didn't pull back, and accepted that the skip beat and quick breath wasn't from the coffee pot being spiked with radiation again. He had a small scar just below his lower lip, faint enough that she wouldn't have noticed further away. All it would take was a few inches and their lips would meet.

With a feeling of heat rushing to her face, she looked away, and focused on her papers. If he caught her staring at his lips, he might get the idea that she wanted to kiss him. And that would be a disaster, completely bad for teamwork. Even worse, she had a feeling she'd enjoy it.

He broke into a broad smile. "Really? You'd really watch it? Hell, I'd juggle cut hands if you'd watch. Doc always has plenty, I wouldn't even have to cut 'em myself!"

"Messy, but points for creativity, I guess," she said.

"Aw yeah, I love points, especially points from you. I would kill for gold stars, in fact, just name who, and they will be deader than dead. Because I do things right, not just boring old death. But, anyways, Miss Pauling, what about it? You don't even have to go outside, in fact, I'll even bring snacks."

Outside was a wintry abyss of snow clouding up the air in puffs of white. Hardly a backyard party, though Soldier would always brave whatever weather to scream about his love for America and blow up things.

"My work might run late," she said.

"And---wait, you said yes?--mean, great! I'll meet you at---wait, when are we meeting again?"

"My hours end at midnight," she said.

"Midnight? I can do midnight," he said. "I am a stayin' up machine. Party all night, that's my motto!"

Technically, though she couldn't think of a single time when she hadn't been assigned another job late enough that she didn't get off. If she skipped out on too much sleep, she'd regret it tomorrow. But after having her vacation days be called in for five years running, her irritation surpassed her common sense.

And Scout always did have the best snacks.

"If you're still up when I get off work, I might," she said.

"Really?" Scout said. He burst into a big grin, and twisted off her desk.

"No promises," she said.

"I gotta say, I like those odds," Scout said. He winked, and rushed out the door. She reached out to steady her papers before he knocked them all over again.

*

Hours later, her boots stained in blood, and more than a little tired, she showed up at one of the connecting buildings between the capture point and the base. A cold wind blew through the slats, so she pulled her soft purple hat down a little more. Scout's mother had also knitted her this cap, filled with such soft wool. Really, at this rate, she half expected Scout's mother to send her a trousseau complete with hope chest, and ask her when the wedding date was. From the comments she heard by the orderlies charged with monitoring the mercenary's phone calls home, she could only imagine the kinds of things he was telling his mother about her.

The embers of the stove had burned low, giving the room a faint red glow amidst the shadows. Scout was huddled under a wool blanket. His red troublemaker's tossle cap was pulled down low. Saxton Hale could never just call it a "winter cap," for everything had to be dynamic.

She hadn't expected to see him there. But, then again, it was Scout. He was always waiting for her.

He pushed himself up, nearly falling over in the process. The blanket fell to the ground, and so did several empty cans of Bonkfee, Saxton's latest unholy toxic waste spawn he was selling to the mercenaries.

"How many cups of coffee did you drink?" She said.

"I'll tell you when my heart starts up again." He pulled his cap up, bursting into a soft smile. "Oh, there it goes. Thanks for that, I thought I'd have to go to doc for a second."

"The mission took longer than expected. Well, actually as soon as it finished, I had another mission to do, then another..." she said. She shrugged. "Business as usual. You know how it is."

Another huge explosion rocked the air outside. 

"But, it's still going strong, I see," she said.

"Hey, it's the fourth. People expect jackasses to get drunk and blow up fireworks at dark o' fuckin' clock in the mornin'. Besides, Soldier takes any chance he can get to scream about freedom, but today he gets to make it official," Scout said.

"I'll take your word for it," she said.

He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, like a cape. Near the stove, her glasses fogged up until he became nothing but blobs of colors.

"The perks of having glasses," she said.

"Nah, that was me. My bad, things get steamy when I'm around."

She rolled her eyes, though the gesture was lost on him, given the state of her glasses.

Another several explosions sounded, and Scout grabbed her wrist. "Hey, we're missin' the party."

Her glasses slowly cleared. The snow was almost knee-deep, and covered with a thick frozen top which made each step crunch through. Even her boots weren't high enough to keep pockets of cold from slipping through and melting across her feet.

"Fuck, it feels like my fingers are about friggin' freezin' off," he said. He breathed on his hands to try and regain warmth. At least he was wearing a coat, but he hadn't bothered with gloves for some reason.

She wrapped her hands about his. He tensed for just a moment, and smiled. His cheeks were so rosy, but she doubted it was entirely from the cold. She rubbed his hands between hers, and caught glimpse of a side of him she hadn't seen before. Flurries brushed his cheek, and for once they weren't simply two hired killers, but two people on something almost like a date.

Something almost romantic.

"I can almost feel my fingers again now, but feel free to keep it up. Forever if you want. That'd be good," Scout said.

Her gloves were thick, and well insulated, but made of pliable enough material to hold whatever weapon she needed in whatever condition. But her tiny hands didn't quite fit over his.

"Your hands are so big," she said.

"You know what they say guys with big hands," Scout said.

"I should bury you face-first in a snowbank for that," she said.

"They catch lots of baseballs!" Scout said. He chuckled, completely unable to stop grinning over his own wit.

Another explosion happened over them, a shower of white and red flowing down slowly. All these years, she'd pushed aside this strange, loud beauty. But as another firework spread across the sky, this time like long golden streamers, she thought that just maybe, she'd been missing out.

"Okay, usually this isn't done in the most ball freezin' wasteland. Usually there's punch, and barbecue, and the family gettin' piss drunk and brawlin'. At least someone ends up in the hospital with a broken nose again. The girls wear cute sundresses, or great daisy dukes, and real cute halters with flowers, or the flag on it..."

He grinned goofily at the memories, or more likely, the thought of her dressed up for a barbecue date.

She brushed the snow off the thick white scarf wrapped about her neck. The cold brought him back from his sudden daydream. He spent half his time in the clouds, until he'd go from bragging about himself to drifting off in some other world. Probably one filled with baseball, and him being the hero of every story.

"Hey, there's always next year," he said. "Maybe we'll be in New Mexico again, or even Boston. It could happen."

"I'm not really the daisy duke kind of girl," she said.

"Then, sundresses?" Scout said hopefully.

With a whistling sound, the firework exploded into red, white and blue. For a few seconds, a shape like a bloom stayed in the air before dissipating. 

"Maybe," she said.

"See all you've been missin'?" Scout said. He fired off another before she could respond properly, past the fragile beauty reflected on the snowy hills. "And hey, that even ain't all. I got somethin'--right--here---"

He pulled out a pair of thin strips of wood. 

"Check _this_ out."

He flicked his lighter, and the stick fizzled brightly. Little sparks filled the night.

"You can write stuff in the air with them, or set your brother on fire, or even make designs. See?"

He made a line, then a heart of light which faded soon in the air, followed by a P. The stick burned out before he could finish what he was drawing in the night sky.

"I don't care what anyone says, sparklers are great. Here, knock yourself out. But not literally. Oh yeah, that reminds me. Ma sent _cookies_ ," he said.

He lit the sparkler, and they both swayed in the cold night, little points of light erupting from the wood curled in their palms. He couldn't keep still, and kept writing things in the air she never could quite catch, but she was pretty sure were directed to her.

The cookies were chewy, filled with chocolate chips and nuts, just like she preferred. She'd have to get the recipe later on.

"It's kind of a shame it only comes once a year. Should be like a weekend of freedom or somethin'. Maybe Soldier can petition the president to it. I hear a rocket launcher to the head is a good way to get bills passed," Scout said. 

"Don't give him any ideas, I have to fix enough of his messes already," she said.

"True, true. Anyways, it's not quite barbecue, but I think I could grow to like it. The air's all shiny and stuff. Except for the part where I freeze my balls off. That ain't no fun."

"That's what blankets are for," she said.

"You're right, though I am diggin' this superhero look. Next time I'll bring more blankets," he said.

He untied the blanket, and she saw a flash of inspiration come over him. "Wait a minute, this blanket is big enough for _two_. So, what about it, Miss Pauling? Does not dyin' from frostbite sound like a good idea? Ma sent brownies as well, and I think I got hot chocolate in a thermos, though even that might be froze through."

Her answer was to lift the blanket up over her shoulders. He yawned, and made a big spectacle of trying to put his arm stealthily about her shoulders.

He always was making a spectacle of everything. He couldn't even go for a snack break without informing everyone in the base of his plans, lest they miss him for the whole five minutes he'd be gone.

She hadn't felt this warmth, and anticipation in a long time. As another red blast went off, she thought she had almost forgotten that feeling, just like fireworks in her chest.


End file.
